A Very Uchiha Christmas
by SkywardShadow
Summary: Three incidents from three different Uchiha Christmas parties. Moral: Don't let Madara get drunk, don't expect Sasuke to act happy around the holidays, and never let Shisui anywhere near a karaoke machine. *Christmasfic; oneshot; AU*


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Least of all Christmas.

**A/N: I warned you there'd be Christmas fic, didn't I? ;) Hope you like it.**

**A Very Uchiha Christmas**

_December 25__th__, twenty-six years ago_

The Christmas party was in full swing.

That statement would have brought to anyone else's mind images of a crowd of mingling people, gifts being exchanged, children wide-eyed with excitement, genuine joy at seeing relatives that were absent for much of the year. The sounds of roaring laughter, loud (and quite probably drunken) singing of Christmas carols, and perhaps a dance or two.

In actuality, "full swing" in this case meant something slightly different. There was a small crowd of people, naturally, and gifts had been handed out. The few children present were, of course, excited, but as members of one of the village's most prestigious families they were already well versed in proper decorum, and as such were almost eerily quiet. There was the occasional laugh, but eight times out of ten it was merely polite laughter (the other two times were likely to be coughs mistaken for laughter).

Nobody was drunk. (No alcohol had been served at an Uchiha party since schizophrenic vaguely-related-relative Madara had gotten smashed at such a party many, many years ago; the exact details had been lost due in equal parts to the passing of time and the trauma sustained by those involved, but obviously something horrible had happened.) And there hadn't been dancing at an Uchiha-held party for quite some time. (There had been rumors for years that the Madara Incident was to blame for this as well.)

As for being happy about seeing relatives, well, there was very little of that. The Uchihas were a very close-knit family, and not very large; the result was that, Christmas or no, the members of the clan saw each other considerably more often than most of them would have liked.

Such was the unfortunate reality of what comprised an Uchiha family Christmas party.

This being the case, Christmas had quickly become Uchiha Fugaku's least favorite time of the year when he was a child, and the feeling had not abated over the years. In fact, he was pretty sure that Christmas had actually gotten _worse_ since he was a boy. Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol. He didn't particularly _enjoy_ alcohol, but even at seventeen Fugaku considered with deep dubiousness the possibility of getting through the evening sober.

Somewhere between complimenting aforementioned vaguely-related-relative Madara's hair for the fifth time that evening (he found it kept the older man—men?—in something of a good mood) and wondering if Windex might work for spiking the punch bowl, Fugaku was struck by the sudden realization that if he didn't escape this stuffy room _right now_, he would probably be forced to hang himself with a holly garland, thereby ruining Christmas forever in the minds of his younger cousins. Although he wasn't sold on the idea that there was much to ruin.

He made some banally polite excuse to Madara and all but bolted from the room, sliding open the back door as inconspicuously as possible and slipping out onto the back porch.

Utter silence.

Fugaku exhaled slowly, watching with detached interest as his breath manifested in a puff of mist and then melted away. It was then that he noticed a flaw in his escape plan: the night air was freezing, and in his haste he had forgotten to grab his coat. So unless he felt like contracting pneumonia (he didn't), he would only be able to avoid the party for a few minutes at best.

He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. Well, a few minutes were better than nothing.

"Aren't you cold?"

He jumped slightly, irrationally terrified for a split second that it was one of his aunts, come to drag him back inside like a demon dragging him down into the pits of hell. In the next second his brain began functioning properly again and informed him that it was neither an aunt nor a demon.

It was, in fact, a girl. A very pretty girl with dark eyes and porcelain skin.

_Porcelain_? He shook his head even as his palms started to sweat.

She raised a slim black eyebrow at his lack of response. "I _said_," she pressed gently, "aren't you cold?"

It occurred to Fugaku that he should probably speak.

"I'm fine."

It occurred to Fugaku that he should probably work on his conversational skills.

The girl was eyeing his thin sweater doubtfully. "I don't believe you," she replied, pulling off her gloves. "Here."

…She wanted him to wear her gloves. _She_ wanted _him_ to wear _her_ gloves.

"Well, go on," she said briskly, holding out the offending articles of clothing. "Your hands are small, excuse me for saying so, so they should fit well enough."

Fugaku attempted to act as though a small piece of his pride had not just been irreversibly smashed. "No, thank you."

"Excuse me, but it wasn't an offer."

He blinked. "Are you _ordering_ me to wear your gloves?"

"Yes, I suppose I am. I don't want to be responsible if your fingers freeze."

"Oh, really." He smirked, unable to resist a bit of teasing. "What about the rest of me, then?"

She waved him off. "Not my business. I'm afraid I've done all I can." She grinned. It made her eyes sparkle (not that he _noticed_, of course). "Now please put on the gloves."

He sighed, but gave in. "You realize I will never hear the end of this if one of my brothers sees?"

"Yes, and I do apologize for endangering your male pride," she responded with subtly mocking gravity. "But when you think about it, it would be worse if your mother had to take care of your every need because your hands were frostbitten, yes?"

The point was incontestable. "True."

"So I thought. I have a brother of my own; I know how these sorts of things work." She blinked. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten to introduce myself. Uchiha Mikoto, pleasure to meet you."

"Uchiha Fugaku. Good to meet you as well." The introductions didn't exactly leave room for further conversation. Thinking ahead, he opted to change the subject. "Would you like to sit down?"

They managed to find a porch swing that wasn't completely soaked through with melted snow and sat down.

"Do you enjoy these parties?" was his first question once they had.

Mikoto winced slightly and shook her head. "Not particularly. Having a family Christmas party is all well and good, but no one ever seems to have fun at these parties. Do you?"

"Not unless I meet someone interesting." Had he just said that? Had he honestly and truthfully just _said_ that?

The dusting of pink now coloring Mikoto's face served to answer that yes, actually, he had.

"Erm…I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably, looking away. He himself was blushing now. Wonderful.

"No need," she said lightly. When he risked an upward glance again, she was smiling. "I'm glad you find me interesting."

At which Fugaku quickly looked down again, the heat in his face intensifying. He felt like an idiot. Certainly not like the man he wished he were—calm, confident, in control of the situation. This, whatever it was, felt completely outside of his control.

It would be about an hour before either of them noticed the stray sprig of mistletoe, more evidence of his aunt's need to decorate _everything_ appropriately, dangling conveniently above their heads. At that point his face was completely numb with cold, but he still felt it when they kissed—tentatively, carefully—and it was then that he thought maybe it was alright for some things to be outside his control, after all.

Including no-longer-quite-so-horrible family Christmas parties.

…

_December 25__th__, five years ago_

In retrospect, the idea had been ill-fated from the start.

But really, Inabi would later defend himself, who else was he supposed to ask? He had to host, Teyaki's legs were bad, Yashiro hated kids, Itachi was too expressionless, Obito was sick, Tekka didn't look the part, and Fugaku…well, that one didn't even need an explanation, did it?

In the end, Shisui had been the only option.

It had been a tradition for several years during family Christmas parties to have someone play Santa for the younger kids. Obito was usually chosen. The whole thing kept the children entertained and had the added bonus of sparing partygoers Obito's ever-creative excuses as to why he was late. A cold ended up putting him out of commission the year it was Inabi's turn to host, however, which was why the older man turned (desperately) to Shisui.

At first glance it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Shisui was enthusiastic, cheerful; he didn't seem to mind little kids the way much of the family did, and he even remembered most of their names. He had acted as Itachi's self-professed big brother figure for much of the younger boy's childhood, and that hadn't ended too badly (rather, Itachi was too proud to divulge the extent of the trauma inflicted on his young mind after Shisui barged into his life). So Inabi phoned him, and his cousin was all too happy to take the job.

Christmas came, the party started, and there was Shisui in full Santa regalia. Beard and glasses and boots and all, beaming and _ho-ho-ho_ing away. The kids were enjoying it and nothing seemed to be in imminent danger of exploding, so Inabi breathed a sigh of relief and went to talk with his guests.

As such, he didn't see the incident firsthand; he had to rely instead on the testimony of multiple giggling children as well as a newly mortified Itachi after the fact.

The no-alcohol rule had persisted, just as sternly enforced as it had been in Fugaku's youth. But Shisui, being frighteningly skilled at breaking rules without getting caught (at least until after he had achieved his objective), had apparently managed to sneak a flask of god-knows-what into the party under his red suit. (His defense afterward would consist of a cheeky grin and the statement "It's cold; a guy's gotta do _something_ to keep warm" spoken in a completely unbelievable tone of innocence.)

All had gone reasonably well for the first two hours or so. Shisui smiled unwaveringly, handed out presents, told jokes to the kids, and generally kept everyone in the little sitting room enjoying themselves. But at some point, when the small crowd of children had mostly dispersed, the teenager evidently got bored and produced the flask.

Uchihas were legendary lightweights. And Shisui, no matter his deviations from the general attitude of the Uchiha, was no exception from that rule of genetics. As such, it took only half the contents of that small flask for him to become rather smashed.

Itachi's luck was bad enough that he happened to be walking by just as Shisui was bypassing the tipsy stage and entering full-fledged drunkenness.

Not that _Itachi_ was aware of this, however. Thus, it came as something of a surprise when Shisui looked up at him, grinned even more idiotically than usual, and asked if Itachi wanted to sit on his lap.

Itachi's exact reaction to the invitation is and will probably always be unknown. But obviously it was some sort of refusal, because his ever-persistent cousin then proceeded to follow Itachi around and repeat the question at a sound level that made things extremely awkward for the surrounding family members.

Said family members silently voted to utilize Uchiha Strategy Number One for Dealing with Awkward Situations; that is, pretend the situation isn't occurring. And it worked.

At least, for the ten minutes that elapsed before Shisui discovered the karaoke machine (that to this day Inabi refuses to admit owning) and treated them all to a painfully loud and off-key rendition of O Holy Night. During which it became abundantly clear that Strategy Number One was failing completely, which threw everybody off because ignoring the problem usually worked. Itachi, being the prodigy, thought quickly and came up with a Plan B.

He yanked Shisui away from the machine, dragged him to the back door, and tossed him bodily out into the snow. Then, dusting his hands off, he returned to the now-silent party as if nothing odd had happened.

Other partygoers would speculate for weeks afterward about Itachi's motives for literally throwing his best friend out in the middle of winter. Some wondered whether he had thought the cold might sober Shisui up. Others figured he had done it so that Shisui could get a hold of himself without bothering anyone and return when he was ready. Still others were convinced he had done it with vengeance in mind, pure and simple.

Whatever the reason, anyone would agree that the hangover with which Shisui awoke the next morning was more than payback for the embarrassing offer which, one or two witnesses privately thought, Itachi hadn't really minded all that much.

…

_December 25__th__, last year_

The main house in the Uchiha compound was full of laughter. Full of the sounds of joy and Christmas.

Uchiha Sasuke was feeling very much like he would like to shoot someone. Possibly himself. _Probably_ his cousin.

It was an odd feeling, a breaking of tradition in a way. Wanting to murder his cousin was hardly a new feeling for Sasuke, but normally that cousin was Shisui. Not once in his sixteen years of life could Sasuke remember ever having homicidal feelings towards Obito.

But this time, Obito was indeed on the receiving end of Sasuke's ire, although the man was oblivious to that fact. And what had he done to deserve it? Two things.

One had been getting sick. No, really. See, it was Obito's turn to host the annual Uchiha Christmas party, but three days before the event he had gotten the stomach flu and…well. It wasn't a home one would wish to hold a party in, at any rate. That was the story Obito told, anyway—Sasuke had a sneaking suspicion that Obito had in fact forgotten he was hosting, lost track of the time and panicked. It wasn't that far-fetched; his cousin was a borderline pathological liar when he was in danger of getting into trouble for something, always had been. The only difference between now and twenty years ago was that Obito's lies were now somewhat more plausible; only his old schoolmate Kakashi had any reliable way of discerning the lies from the truth.

Anyway, that was one reason. Especially since Sasuke's own mother, Mikoto, had volunteered to host at their home instead. Oh, Sasuke had been overjoyed about that bit of news. He hated these parties with an experienced passion, and that was when they were at _other_ people's homes. If his family was hosting, it would make escaping and hiding somewhere extremely difficult.

The second thing was what a miraculously cured Obito was now doing in _Sasuke's house_: Christmas decorating. And dragging Mikoto and Itachi into it as well. To be honest, he'd been fervently hoping that his mother would forget (a boy could dream, right?). This meant holly. This meant mistletoe (he shuddered; he absolutely _shuddered_). This meant ornaments and wreaths and obnoxious Christmas music and Sasuke wanted absolutely no part of it.

Which was why he was currently curled up in the laundry room, behind the dryer, where hopefully no one would think to hunt for him.

And for a good hour or so, no one had. His back was beginning to get sore from being in the fetal position for so long, but it was a fair price to pay.

Regardless, his brother still showed up at half past eleven to ruin everything, the way he liked to do when "everything" involved Sasuke happily hiding from the world.

"Just some food for thought," Itachi remarked, kneeling down next to his sibling. "You may want to choose a different hiding place next time, seeing as you've been using this one since you were eight years old."

Sasuke glared, but without much heart in it. "You're the only one who knows that."

"True enough," Itachi admitted. "Now come on. Mother sent me to assign you cookie decorating duties."

If he'd been sitting in a chair, Sasuke would have fallen comically off of it. As it was, he just sat there and looked horrified.

"Cookie decorating?" he repeated. Maybe he'd heard wrong.

Itachi shattered that delusion immediately. "Yes, cookie decorating. And no complaining; she went to the trouble of inviting your friend to make it more…fun."

The way his brother hesitated over the last word gave Sasuke a sinking feeling.

"My friend?" he asked.

"That would be Naruto," Itachi clarified. The words '_Do_ _you even have any other friends?_' went unspoken.

"Noooo," Sasuke groaned, banging his head against the wall behind him.

"Yes," Itachi replied cheerfully. Message delivered, he took Sasuke's arm and all but dragged him from the little room. Sasuke didn't resist; his brother's strength was legendary despite rarely being necessary.

Naruto—aka the number one pain in Sasuke's ass—was already waiting in the kitchen, next to three trays of naked gingerbread men and a pile of assorted frosting tubes and sprinkle-filled containers.

"Hey, Uchiha," he greeted him cheerfully. "How's it hanging?"

Sasuke, having noted the blond boy's entirely red-and-green attire, was too busy keeping the vein in his forehead from pulsating to say anything.

"I'll leave you two to it." Itachi actually sounded amused. The sadistic bastard.

Naruto wasted no time in grabbing a cookie and nibbling experimentally. The action unfroze Sasuke's tongue.

"We're supposed to decorate them, not eat them, dumbass."

Naruto stuck his tongue out. Sasuke resisted the strong urge to slam his head in the refrigerator door.

"I _know_ that, jerk," Naruto responded. "But I have a policy: Never decorate a cookie you haven't tasted first."

Clearly it was going to be one of those days completely devoid of any logic whatsoever. Such was the nature of Christmas. Sighing heavily, Sasuke resigned himself to his fate and took a cookie.

Neither teenager was quite sure where it started—Naruto insisted it was after Sasuke made his fourth picture-perfect gingerbread man in a row, while Sasuke was convinced it was after Naruto bit all the limbs off of one cookie and spread red frosting in the "wounds", saying the little man was a victim of the zombie apocalypse—but somehow one of them ended up with a splotch of icing dripping down the side of their face. The other then retaliated. Which, naturally, resulted in an all-out icing war.

Itachi reentered the kitchen an hour after he'd left it to find the room demolished, with icing oozing all over every surface and sprinkles decorating everything that _wasn't_ edible. Gingerbread body parts were scattered all over the floor, making it look like some kind of cookie war had gone on—which it sort of had, really. Naruto and Sasuke stood at the center of it all, at least having the decency to look sheepish. Naruto had sprinkles in his eyelashes and under his fingernails, and Sasuke's famously spiky hair was now being held up at least in part by copious amounts of icing.

Itachi blinked a few times, sighed, and went to inform his mother that perhaps store-bought cookies would be the way to go this year.

All things considered, the party went smoothly. Guests were herded carefully away from the kitchen, nobody started singing, no alcohol was snuck in on the sly, and Sasuke managed to avoid the mistletoe—and by extension any unpleasant rejections—the entire night.

Obito didn't throw up on anybody, Sasuke didn't throttle anyone with tinsel (although once "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" was played for the fifth time, he came dangerously close), Madara didn't go psycho on anyone, inter-family flirting was kept to a minimum (mostly because Itachi had discreetly threatened Shisui beforehand)…all was well.

**Fin**

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed, and a very Merry Christmas to all of you. Have a fantastic new year. :)**


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